


Teen Hurley vs. Romance™

by shieldings



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff, Hurley is Small and Salty, Silly, Sloane is Flirty, Teen for Swears, The Twins are Really Extra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 06:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldings/pseuds/shieldings
Summary: Hurley has a nemesis.  Said nemesis doesn't seem to care that they are nemeses.  In the process of trying to understand the psyche of her nemesis, who is not cute at all, Hurley investigates many things.Also, court is in session with Judge Lup.





	Teen Hurley vs. Romance™

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfskater63](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfskater63/gifts).



> Okay so you people know that I have an IV drip of angst but sometimes ya just gotta write something cute and silly okay?
> 
> I'm writing this partially for a friend, and I'm just showing her shit instead of letting her see my AO3 account because she writes a lot of wonderful happy things and I've just got a constant flow of suffering going on and I'm a little embarrassed. This is probably gonna be pretty short, maybe 3-5 chapters. Obviously going to end with stupid teenage smooching.
> 
>  **AN:** ya know i can't keep secrets i let her find me i am so ashamed of my horrid pain stories lordie now it's just a gift for this skating wolf

Hurley has been alive for fifteen years, eleven months, and eighteen days. She’s counted. She has barreled through every kind of bullshit (AP classes, rude DMV employees, overconfident karate classmates) with a no-nonsense attitude and a determined personality, so this situation shouldn’t be any different.

 

This situation is different.

 

“Get out,” she says, tapping her foot on the concrete. “The game’s about to start, so _get out._ ”

 

“It’s kinda difficult to navigate, with all these scaffolds,” says a cool, feminine voice. “How about you come in here and help me out?”

 

“You’ve tried that one before,” Hurley answers. “You’re just gonna get me stuck on top of something and leave.” Students are already piling into the bleachers, ignoring the cigarette smoke that’s leaking from between the seats, chattering excitedly among themselves. Soon, the marching band is going to come out, and the game is going to start, and Hurley will be unable to extract Sloane without causing some kind of uproar. “The principal wants to see you, and the longer you stay in there, the more trouble you’re going to be in.”

 

A smoke ring floats lazily out and dissipates around Hurley’s face. How the hell does somebody even do that?

 

The marching band is marching out. It’s ninety-percent starry-eyed freshmen, and nine-percent dangerously intense seniors. The school song is beginning to play. Sloane is still under the bleachers. Hurley continues tapping her foot, and realizes with some irritation that she’s started to match up with the song’s rhythm.

 

“If you don’t come out, you might get suspended.”

 

“Free vacation.”

 

“Not free! What if you get held back?”

 

“Another year with you, Hurls.” Hurley can practically see the other girl winking. It’s infuriating. Sloane, for some reason, feels the need to flirt with everybody she talks to. It’s completely unprofessional. What would that do, in a workplace setting?

 

Hurley storms off with her fists clenched. She wishes, for a second, that she could snort steam like a big angry ungulate. Then she thinks of Sloane, blowing flirtatious smoke rings at her, and decides that she definitely does _not_ want to be like Sloane in any way. At all. Ew.

 

She vents about it to Ren in Home Ec. Ren nods patiently, occasionally looking up from her cake batter to nod sympathetically or go, “Oh, dear.”

 

“How is she even still going to this school?” Hurley asks, gesturing dramatically with her whisk. A glob of batter flies into an inspirational poster; one of three majestic wild horses now has a blob dripping off of its head, which makes the “be yourself” message at the bottom a little more distressing.

 

Ren shrugs, still stirring vigorously. “Maybe she studies really hard at home. Does this look lumpy to you?”

 

The batter is an even pink, and as smooth as whipped cream. Hurley gives it a thumbs-up, but Ren shakes her head sadly.

 

“It looks pretty, but I can _feel_ the lumpiness.” Ren twists a lock of hair around her finger, and chews on her lip. “I want to do everything by hand, but there’s an electric mixer in the back… Is this compromising my integrity as a chef?”

 

“Relax,” Hurley says, returning her whisk to the bowl. “As long as it’s not on fire, it’s fine.”

 

“’Relax,’” Ren says, and Hurley can see that she’s trying to suppress a giggle.

 

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Hurley responds. “Anyway, as soon as I’ve got Sloane behaving—“

 

“Why do you care so much?”

 

“She’s throwing off the entire school’s atmosphere, and, as student representative, it’s my duty to restore our wholesome environment,” Hurley says, stirring vigorously. “She made the football game _weird._ ”

 

“You were the only one that noticed her.”

 

“Magnus noticed her.” A bit more batter flies out of the bowl. “He has to stay focused.”

 

“He gave her a high-five and ran off.”

 

“He has to _focus,_ ” Hurley repeats. “If he messes up a game, what about the school’s honor?”

 

“What honor?”

 

Hurley growls quietly and continues to attack her batter. It’s beginning to get stiff. What does that mean? Her arm hurts. “I just don’t like bullshit people. Sloane won’t listen to reason. Whenever I try to talk to her, she just laughs and blows smoke in my face.”

 

“If it’s really bothering you, try talking to Lulu.”

 

“Lulu.”

 

Ren smiles, almost dreamily. “Lup. She’s Taako’s sister, and since I’m friends with them, I get to call her that.”

 

“I know who Lup is. Everyone knows who Lup is.” Lup and Taako are legendary. They covered the track circuit in cotton candy and didn't get in trouble, and nobody knows how they did either of those things. Hurley shakes her head in frustration. “Anyway, what can 'Lulu' do?”

 

“You’re not allowed!” Ren scolds, putting her unwhisked hand on her hip. “See, Taako was hanging around this douchebag from their class, and he was constantly getting into these these dumb power games with him—“

 

“I’m not playing dumb power games!”

 

“And Lulu stepped right in there, sat them both down, and gave them a _talk,”_ Ren says, and there’s a slightly upsetting fire in her eyes. “I _saw_ , because it was right in the music room and I was cleaning up.”

 

“Spying,” Hurley corrects.

 

“Sazed was all, ‘but we have such great chemistry as a team,’ and Lup was all, ‘chemistry can make poisonous gases,’ and Taako was crying a little.” Ren looks at the ceiling, clutches her hand to her chest. “He’s amazing.”

 

“Amazing,” Hurley says flatly.

 

“Promise to at least consider it? She owes me a favor, and I bet she could catch Sloane.” Ren smiles, and it’s adorable, because Ren is kind of adorable. “She’s a really fast runner and could probably knock her over.”

 

Hurley considers it, and realizes that she’s still stirring and her arm really hurts. The batter doesn’t seem to want to move anymore. “Ren,” she says. “Is my cake going to be okay?”

 

Ren looks at it for a moment, and shakes her head. “No, Hurley. It’s a disaster.”

 

“Arrange a meeting,” Hurley says, narrowing her eyes. “I have business to handle.”

 

\---

“What seems to be the problem?” Lup asks. She’s a tall girl with bleached hair and several piercings, and Hurley’s immediate reaction to her is “fear.” Fear is Hurley's reaction to anybody who is striking in any way whatsoever, and Lup is striking in multiple ways, so all Hurley really wants to do right now is run. Unfortunately, Lup has her tucked under one arm, and Sloane tucked under the other. Sloane's long legs are dragging on the floor, but she doesn't seem to be making any effort to escape.

 

Lup plops Hurley into a folding chair, without dropping Sloane. “I said, what's the problem? I can't help if you don't talk,” she adds, smiling a little.

Hurley reorients herself. “She is sabotaging my job as a student representative. Also, she's embarrassing to be around.”

“Gotcha,” Lup says, still not dropping her other captive. They’re in the corner of the auditorium, which seems to be empty besides them. It's weird, because Hurley's only been there for crowded events. “Okay, vampire chick, what’s your issue?”

 

“Don’t have one,” Sloane says. She grins roguishly. “Except for my tiny stalker.”

 

Lup drops Sloane into a chair facing Hurley, and then sits down between them with her long legs crossed, ready to dive in between them if things come to fisticuffs. “Fuck, shortie, you’ve been stalking her? Not cool.”

 

“I have _not_ been stalking her!” Hurley says. “I’m just trying to maintain order, and she’s doing this on purpose!”

 

Sloane winks and sticks out her tongue, just a little. Like a kitten. _Disgusting._

 

“What’s she been doing to get you so worked up?” Lup asks.

 

“Smoking! On school grounds!”

 

“Unhealthy, against the rules. Fair enough.”

 

“She’s flirting with literally everybody!”

 

“My brother flirts with literally everybody. I flirt with at least thirty-five percent of everybody. That’s not a reason to get pissy.”

 

“I’m not pissy,” Hurley says, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “Also, she was distracting Magnus. When he was supposed to be in game mode.”

 

“Maggie’s always in game mode,” Lup says. “He tried to start a fight at the Dairy Queen last week when somebody yelled at a lady for having a crying baby.”

 

“She skips classes! She flipped off Mr. Davenport! She snuck up behind me and dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt!”

 

Lup suppresses a snort. “Be nice to Dav, Sloane.”

 

“I was just trying to get Hurls to cool it,” Sloane says, winking. She raises a hand, and Lup gives her a high-five.

 

“Court is closed,” Lup says, standing and brushing off her pink jean shorts. “Sorry, Shortcake.”

 

“That’s not my name!” Hurley shouts as the judge and defendant both leave. She slumps to the ground and sighs deeply.

 

The curtains on the stage rustle. Ren creeps out from between them. “Sorry, Hurley,” she says. “Looks like you lost today.”

 

“What are you even doing here?”

 

“Cleaning.” Ren creeps back behind the curtain.

 

Hurley flops onto her side and feels sorry for herself for at least ten minutes.

–

Hurley kicks a punching bag's ass with her sick karate skills, but, weirdly enough, it doesn't make her feel better. Usually a good workout will calm her mind down (that's half of the philosophy of martial arts anyway, isn't it?), but apparently Sloane is too irritating for even the sweetest kicks to defeat. She wishes that she knew someone else who was into this stuff. Punching bags can't exactly maneuver. All they do is flop around and hit you in the face.

 

“Screw you,” Hurley says to the punching bag as soon as she's recovered from its blow to her nose.

 

“You okay in there?” someone calls from outside the gym.

 

“Fine,” Hurley says, although her voice is a little nasal now. “Just got too intense.”

 

“Intense is great,” Magnus says as he sidles into the room. As always, he is bulky and cheerful. A short girl with blue-dyed hair, a pointy nose, and nearly inhumanly bright gold-brown eyes is close behind him. She gives Hurley a small wave.

 

“Intense gets your face smacked,” Hurley mutters. Neither one of the intruders seems to be paying attention.

 

“Ready?” asks the blue-haired girl, bouncing a little on her feet.

 

“So fucking ready,” Magnus responds. He looks like a puppy dog. He's smiling like an idiot, and if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

 

Then they're duking it out in full-power mode. Magnus body-slams Blue. Blue body-slams Magnus, (despite the fact that he is bigger and side-burnier than any teenager should be allowed to be), and somehow knocks him over. They proceed through a series of dangerous-looking chokeholds, leg-swipes, and headbutts. They both pick each other up off the ground and launch each other into the air multiple times, which shouldn't even be possible. Hurley wonders for a second if she should interfere, because somebody might die and she doesn't want to be a witness, but it's over as soon as it's begun.

 

“Good match!” Magnus says, giving an enormous thumbs-up with his enormous hand. He has two black eyes and his sideburns are askew.

 

“Good match!” says Blue, pumping her tiny, bruised fist. There's a swelling lump on her forehead and her nose is bleeding, but she doesn't seem to care. She grabs a water bottle with a cartoon duck on it, and then she turns towards Hurley and extends a hand. “I'm Carey. And you are?”

 

“Uh, Hurley,” Hurley says, a little hesitant to shake the hand of the apparent god-slayer. Well, not god-slayer, but at least quarterback-pulverizer. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Magnus, who has been looking into a small hand-mirror and readjusting his hair, looks over his shoulder. “Don't be intimidated, Hurley, she's actually got a really cute personality!”

 

Carey turns beet red, then takes a long drink out of her water bottle. “I'm the tough one here,” she insists. “He just wants to look cool.”

 

“Are you guys, uh...?” Hurley looks from one to the other. This doesn't seem like the kind of activity that couples do, but Hurley knows next to nothing about Romance™ so she's not really one to judge. “Are you guys dating?”

 

Carey laughs so hard that she chokes on her water. Magnus rushes to her side and immediately starts panicking. Hurley steps back, because somebody might die and she doesn't want to be a witness.

 

“No,” Carey wheezes, wiping a tear from her eye. “I'm super-gay. This is a club activity.”

 

“We're also partners in wood shop!” Magnus adds, perky as ever now that there's no threat of Carey dying because someone implied that she was heterosexual. “I'm teaching her how to--”

 

“Shut up, Magnus,” Carey whispers, nudging him. “We're making a birdhouse. Sometimes I go over to his house because he's got more tools than the school does.”

 

“I've also got a fish, and she likes to watch him eat.”

 

“That's nice,” Hurley says, looking at the door. She's wondering how to make a clean exit, without offending anybody. She really doesn't want to get involved in this partnership-- friendship-- whatever this is, and if they keep on being friendly to her, they might want her to join their body slam games.

 

Actually, that might be nice. Punching bags don't maneuver, but Carey does. Magnus might squish her, though. Then again, Hurley does need to practice with larger opponents. She's already small, so average-sized people are big to her, but Magnus is _big_ big. Getting good at fighting him would be a serious accomplishment.

 

Hurley decides that she wants to join their body slam games.

  
  


“I want to join your body slam games,” Hurley says.

  
  


“Uh.” Carey looks over at Magnus, who just shrugs. “You lost a fight with a punching bag.”

  
  


“Be nice,” Magnus says, gently punching Carey in the arm. “I thought you were already in a bunch of other clubs.”

  
  


“Only student government and Model UN,” Hurley says. “Those are both only on Wednesdays. The rest of the week I'm free.”

  
  


“You always stay after school, though,” Magnus says. “I figured you were busy.”

  
  


“I am busy,” Hurley says. She decides not to tell him that she's busy following Sloane around looking for a reason to citizens-arrest her. “I just want to join your fighting club.”

  
  


“It's not an official club,” Carey says. She keeps giving Magnus quick, desperate glances, but he doesn't seem to notice. “There are only two members, and we don't have a sponsor.”

  
  


“A third member would actually be good,” Magnus says. “You do karate, right?”

  
  


“Right,” Hurley says, nodding. “I can't do any of the fancy stuff you guys do, but I can show you some of the tricks I know. I just don't like practicing alone.”

  
  


“We don't have a sponsor,” Carey says, but she sounds defeated. “Julia didn't join, so how come she's joining?”

  
  


“Julia doesn't like flips,” Magnus shrugs.

\---

_**A Short Story:** _

Hurley joins the Wrassling Club, much to Carey's dismay. Magnus demonstrates the basic club activities, including Throwing, Jumping-on, Sneaking, and Hugs. Carey pouts and keeps on whispering things to Magnus instead of just saying them out loud.

  
  


Hurley barely manages to escape with her life, but she still plans on attending the next meeting.

  
  


_Conclusion: Sometimes, friendship interlopers win._

\---

“Lup Court is actually pretty popular,” Ren says. They're sitting on a low brick wall near the roller rink, drinking overpriced coffee. “She's got good instincts.”

  
  


“No, she doesn't,” Hurley says. “She called me Shortcake.”

  
  


“I think it's cute,” Ren says. “Even if you can't bake.”

  
  


“I'll get better.”

  
  


“No, you won't.” Ren shakes her head sadly.

  
  


“I won't.” Hurley pauses for a second. “What other stuff has she resolved?”

  
  


“Remember when Taako and Brian kept on yelling at each other every time they passed in the halls? She resolved that. I think Taako won that time,” Ren says.

  
  


“Of course he won. He's her brother.” Hurley remembers the week of the Brian Feud vividly. She wasn't directly involved, but there was a lot of swearing, and there were spiders everywhere.

  
  


“He lost the Taaco-v-Highchurch loafer case.”

  
  


“He's one of the janitors, isn't he?” Mr. Highchurch is stocky and kind of grouchy, but zen in his own way. Hurley's pretty sure he also maintains the garden in front of the building.

  
  


“Yep. Taako also lost against l'il Jerry in the identity theft case.” Ren takes a sip of her coffee, as if this is all totally normal. “The l'il Jerry who wandered the halls on September 5th was neither l'il nor Jerry. He was a normal-sized Taako.”

  
  


Hurley tries to remember September 5th. Then, she suddenly realizes something. “How many of her cases, up until mine, have just been about people getting mad at Taako?”

  
  


Ren takes another sip of her coffee, and says, perfectly calmly, “All of them.” Her phone chimes, and she picks it up. “I have to go to the dentist. Bye!” Ren hops off the wall and trots off.

  
  


Hurley snaps her fingers. September 5th was the day the Student Government picked a secretary. Hurley had been appointed to count ballots. The candidates had been Lucretia (who always sat in the back during trigonometry) and... l'il Jerry. It had been l'il Jerry who told everyone that he was retiring and moving to Hawaii, and it was l'il Jerry who made fart noises with his armpits until he was escorted out. Since there was only one candidate left, Hurley had been forced to throw the ballots into the shredder without even looking at them, for the sake of confidentiality.

  
  


Identity theft. You never imagine it as something that could happen right under your nose.

\---

_**A Short Story:** _

Taako, when confronted, denies that his crime against l'il Jerry was wrong.

  
  


“Grifters gotta grift,” he says, shrugging his graceful shoulders and tossing his hair like a supermodel. “Just be glad that you weren't my target, sweetheart.”

  
  


L'il Jerry, when confronted, is still bitter about his loss.

  
  


“I was gonna climb the ladder,” he says, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I was gonna make it big.”

  
  


Lucretia, when confronted, looks genuinely shocked and a little sick.

  
  


“I didn't know it was rigged,” she says, hugging her notebook to her chest. “If I'd known, I would have dropped out immediately, I would have--”

  
  


Lup, when confronted, smiles and nods proudly.

  
  


“His pal Marvey replaced the ballots with fakes when you were in the bathroom,” she says, stretching like a cat. “Everybody cheated except for Lucretia, but Taako stepped out of line when he stole l'il Jerry's social security number.”

  
  


_Conclusion: The only justice in this wicked world is the justice we make for ourselves._

\---

Hurley decides to do some naturalistic observation, without interfering. If she does this right, she'll have a deeper insight into Sloane's psyche, and maybe she'll be able to figure out what it is about her that makes her so _annoying_.

  
  


During lunch, Sloane eats by herself. She doesn't get anything from the cafeteria. Instead, she has an elaborate set of tupperware containers that she pulls out of her backpack. It appears that she likes to keep all of her sandwich ingredients separate until the last minute. There's a logic to that.

  
  


Unfortunately, in the process of watching Sloane eat lunch, Hurley forgets to eat lunch, and her stomach growls for the rest of the day.

  
  


After school, Sloane wanders around instead of going off to do other things. Again, she does it alone. She climbs all over the bleachers, shreds up a sandwich crust and tosses it to a flock of screeching birds, and smokes a cigarette under the cherry tree, seemingly lost in thought. Hurley pays close attention to everything. There has to be a pattern.

  
  


“Hey.” Somebody puts a hand on her shoulder, and Hurley has to cover her own mouth to prevent herself from shrieking and alerting Sloane of her presence (that is, her presence behind the next tree over, where she is lurking in the shadows like a serial killer). Hurley slowly turns around, and realizes that the person behind her is Lup.

  
  


“Hello,” Hurley says, trying not to sweat visibly. She's ninety-percent sure that she's sweating visibly. “It's great weather for a walk, isn't it?”

  
  


“What did I tell you about stalking?” Lup asks. She crosses her arms and stares down at Hurley accusingly.

  
  


“What are you even doing here?” Hurley asks. “Don't you have places to be?”

  
  


“I left some of my stuff in the music room,” Lup says. Hurley notes the violin case lying on the ground a few feet over. “I told you stalking wasn't cool.”

  
  


“It's naturalistic observation,” Hurley says weakly.

  
  


“Come on,” Lup says. “Let the woman live her life.” She bends over to pick up her case, tucks it under one arm, then she swoops Hurley up under the other before she can complain. This seems to be her method.

  
  


“Where are we going?” Hurley asks, not even bothering to protest.

  
  


“Well, _I_ was going to get pancakes with my friends, but I guess you're coming along,” Lup says, taking long strides and looking straight ahead.

  
  


“You could just put me down,” Hurley says.

  
  


“If I put you down, you'll get all stalky again. You seem nice. Don't be a stalker.” Lup says the last part almost like it's a public service announcement. Has she told a lot of people not to be stalkers?

  
  


Lup carries Hurley into a Denny's. Nobody even looks twice, despite the fact that she's carrying someone like a sack of potatoes.

  
  


“I brought company,” Lup says.

  
  


Six people are crammed into one of those little booth tables. Hurley recognizes Taako, Magnus, Mr. Highchurch (!?), and Carey. The other two are total strangers.

  
  


“I think if I put Stalky next to Carey, I can fit in next to Merle,” Lup says.

  
  


“Hi, Hurley,” Magnus says, waving. Hurley waves back. Lup tucks her right next to Carey, who visibly scoots away, and then seats herself next to Mr. Highchurch. Merle. Why are they hanging out with the janitor?

  
  


“Do I know her?” Taako asks, leaning across the table with his fingers laced together. His motion kind of squishes the kid on his lap. “She looks familiar.”

  
  


“She's friends with Ren,” Lup says. “I guess I should introduce everybody.”

  
  


“It's fine,” Hurley says, “I already know--”

  
  


Taako's drumming a fanfare on the table with his fingers. It's already too late.

  
  


“Merle Highchurch!” Lup announces, framing his face with her hands. “Adult supervision and spiritual adviser!”

  
  


Merle tries to say something, but Taako's changed the fanfare. Lup leans over Merle's lap and pulls the kid off Taako, but only halfway, so he's sprawled out across all three of them.

  
  


“Angus McDonald!” Lup lifts the kid up a little higher, like he's Simba. “Boy genius, collective son!” She then drops him. Angus seems unphased. He waves slightly, adjusts his glasses, and settles down in the narrow crevice between Merle and Taako.

  
  


Taako's fanfare gets more enthusiastic. Lup gestures at Magnus, but he interrupts.

  
  


“She's part of the Wrassling Club,” he says. “We already--”

  
  


“Magnus Burnsides, the human bulldozer! Unstoppable and incomprehensible! Carey Fangbattle, our tiny tank, our lesbian lizard!”

  
  


Carey raises a finger, then changes her mind.

  
  


Lup gestures at the other stranger, who's sitting next to Magnus and seems mildly upset by what's happening around him. “Barold J. Bluejeans! Pay no attention to him! He! Is! A! Nerd!”

  
  


“Nice to meet you, Ba--” Hurley says, because now she knows everybody's names, but apparently the show isn't over yet. Taako continues drumming aggressively, and throws an irritated glance at Hurley for interrupting.

  
  


“And last, but not least,” Lup says, stretching up above everyone else. “The heroes of this story! Ladies, gentlemen, and otherwise specified, meet the beautiful and terrifying Taako!”

  
  


Taako stretches up to join her, which stops the fanfare, but he's already got enough momentum. “Boys, girls, companions and compatriots,” he says. “I am here to introduce you to the one, the only, the glamorous and catastrophic Lup!”

  
  


They grasp each other's hands and bow, again totally disrupting their side of the booth. Everyone claps dutifully, but Angus seems to be the most enthusiastic about it. Hurley can see people at other tables staring. She kind of wants to hide.

  
  


“Oh, and everyone, this is Hurley. She's a stalker but she's usually pretty chill,” Lup says, slithering back into her seat. Everybody claps for Hurley. Lup pats her on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

  
  


“Yay,” Hurley says. “Do you do that every time you have company?”

  
  


“Yes,” Taako says bluntly.

  
  


“Everybody has a leitmotif,” Lup adds. “If you stick around, we'll have Johann make you one, too.”

  
  


“Who's Johann?”

  
  


“Who _isn't_ Johann?” Taako asks, raising a hand. Lup gives him a high-five, knocking off Angus's glasses in the process.

  
  


“That... wasn't an answer,” Hurley says.

  
  


“Johann's my music bitch,” Taako says, carefully re-placing Angus's glasses.

  
  


“Taako,” Lup scolds. “He's _our_ music bitch.”

  
  


Hurley notes that as the twins banter, other, smaller conversations are going on between their tablemates. It's probably because otherwise, they wouldn't be able to get a word in.

  
  


Magnus is smiling and nodding while Angus talks about a book he likes, and Merle is talking to... Barold... about something she doesn't understand. It seems to have something to do with biology, but Hurley's not a science person. Her best subjects are gym and shop, both of which involve handling situations in person, instead of theoretically.

  
  


“Hey, Carey,” Hurley says cautiously.

  
  


“Hello,” Carey says. She's eyeing Hurley suspiciously, as if she thinks she's about to lunge at her or something.

  
  


“I'm sorry if I made a bad impression earlier,” Hurley says. “I didn't mean to. You seem really cool.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Carey says, still eyeing.

  
  


“Why'd they call you a lizard?” Hurley asks. “It sounds like there's a story there.”

  
  


Carey smiles slightly, then pulls the collar of her t-shirt a bit, exposing her shoulder. Blue scales are tattooed on lightly, so that they're obvious without being fully colored in. “I've got them on my other shoulder, too,” Carey says. “I'm saving up to get them across my back.”

  
  


“Wait, do you want to be, uh, all scales?” Hurley saw something like that on TV once. Some fellow who had scales tattooed all over him and had his tongue split like a snake's. He freaked her out a little, but Carey's scales are kind of pretty. Hurley tries to imagine what she'd look like with them covering her face.

  
  


“Nope, just the back and shoulders. I want to be able to get a job,” Carey says. “A lot of places won't hire if you've got visible tattoos.”

  
  


“Wait, you're our age, right?” Hurley asks. “I didn't know you were allowed to get tattoos when you were under eighteen.”

  
  


“Not without parental consent, but you can do anything with a fake ID,” Carey says. She grins, and for a second, Hurley thinks of Sloane. Wait, Lup took her here to make her not think of Sloane. Or maybe to just make her not follow Sloane. What are the rules again?

  
  


Anyway, the waiter seems kind of afraid to approach them, but when he does, he gets pulled into the party too, so it's a long time before anybody gets any pancakes.

\---

_**A Short Story:** _

Hurley wants to know why there's a six-year-old kid trailing behind Taako like a baby duck, so she decides to just ask.

  
  


“Found him,” Taako answers.

  
  


“Where?”

  
  


“Found him on a train,” Taako elaborates.

  
  


This is both unhelpful and a little disturbing. She decides to ask Magnus, who seems at least a little bit more sensible.

  
  


“Found him on a train and stole his backpack,” Magnus says, nodding. “Now, he's our boy.”

  
  


That's the most explanation Hurley can get out of anybody.

  
  


_Conclusion: Sometimes a boy is just a boy, and he's here, and that's that._

 

**Author's Note:**

> l'il Jerry almost had a taste of power, but it was pulled out of his mouth aggressively by Taako who also stole his credit card and his sunglasses


End file.
